


What's On Your Mind?

by drtempledragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Asexual Character, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drtempledragon/pseuds/drtempledragon
Summary: Rose is fed up with the Doctor flirting with her but not following through. Post 2x11 Fear Her.Originally posted on LiveJournal and archived on Teaspoon.





	What's On Your Mind?

Rose was a woman who’d had enough. Or rather, Rose wished she wasn’t caught in the middle of things. Being in the time vortex between times and places wasn’t the issue. The Doctor had left 2012 London and the Olympic Games behind during the small hours in local time, relatively a few hours ago for her. She’d gotten the impression from him when they first landed, and again after the business with the Isolus, that they were going to stay for the whole fortnight, or however long the games lasted. Hence parking the TARDIS between two skips, for their undisturbed accommodation. But no, the Doctor had closed the door and started the engines before she’d even reached her bedroom, let alone changed into her pyjamas.

It was the pattern of his day, this start-stop behaviour. Coming for the Olympics, staying for the Olympics, and then leaving after the opening ceremony. Ending a conversation by mentioning he was a dad once, seemingly ignoring her making something about that revelation, and starting a conversation about long distance travel instead. Hugging her tightly, leaning into her as she talked about them being together, only for him to get a shiver in the warm air from a distant, ethereal source.

In one regard this behaviour was a repeating one, only it was more intense of late. In truth, Rose was fed up with being flirted with by the Doctor, only for him to go off and investigate something unconnected to her. She couldn’t believe that he was ignorant of his impact on her. He could detect the slightest whiff of ionic energy, and dedicate his whole attention to the case until it was solved. And yet, throughout this adventure, he’d been touching her: in new places, with knuckle nudges to her chest; for no reason, a hug after a scribble attack though she was alright; elaborate role play, with inflections which wouldn’t sound out of place in an adult movie script (or so she imagined); sharing food, sticking fingers in jam and handling chewed gum. Rose was convinced the next time the Doctor touched her and went on to other things, she’d pin him to the floor and straddle him just to keep his attention fixed on her.

With her visceral mood, Rose figured she was probably ovulating, a rarity with the effects of time travel on her now errant periods. For the Doctor, the cold anticipation from the air had made him withdraw slightly, like he couldn’t get away from the feared future fast enough. She’d held his hand and told him she’d always be with him, but he hadn’t believed it. Rose wondered what she’d have to do to prove it to him, that she wasn’t like the others before her who had found something or someone else. She wanted him. 

Maybe Rose could find an answer to the flirting and the commitment issues with the question she had for the Doctor. With her mind set, she got off her bed, slid her feet into her slippers and went in search of him.

***

Rose didn’t have to look very far. She’d deviated into the kitchen for some chocolate before heading to the console room. There he was, still in his clothes from the games. Nothing unusual in that, except today he’d forgone several layers – oxford shirt, tie and t-shirt – leaving just an open polo shirt and suit jacket with the top button undone in addition to the usual bottom one. It was very revealing, and very alluring. 

The Doctor looked up as she approached the seating by the console.

“Rose,” he sounded surprised, though he smiled warmly. “I didn’t expect you up so soon.”

“Haven’t slept,” she said truthfully.

“Excitement of the games preventing you from nodding off?” he theorised. “Or,” he continued, noting what she was holding, “too much theo-bromine?”

While he continued looking at the console monitor readings, Rose didn’t miss the glances at the chocolate bar. Her stomach had closed up now she was standing so close to him, so she handed over the remaining blocks. He made no hesitation in consuming a piece and swallowing audibly, but his attention had fully returned to the monitor. Once again, the Doctor had lost interest in her. Whatever he was looking at didn’t seem that imperative. The fact she was in the console room watching him work at night wasn’t new, but her standing rather than sitting did merit some importance. Instead, the Doctor absently broke off another piece of chocolate and lifted it to his mouth

“Why won’t you have sex with me?” Rose said in a frustrated tone.

It certainly got his attention, as the chocolate and his mouth were suspended in mid-air while his eyes turned to meet hers. Evidently this line of thought was a surprise to him, judging by the ‘rabbit in headlights’ expression. Part of her wished for the TARDIS to provide a quick exit, and part of her wondered if he’d misheard. 

Eventually he closed his mouth, before slowly asking, “Do you want me to?”

Rose tried not to laugh. Did it need saying? Did not every pore of her being scream at him – please shag me, please show me you want me to stay? She licked her lips and nodded quickly.

“Oh,” he said soundly. The chocolate returned to the foil on the console. He took in a large breath and smiled. “I didn’t think you were ready.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief and added a bashful smile. Finally, with a few words they were up to speed. As soon as the Doctor pushed a few buttons, he came over to her and interlocked his fingers with hers.

“Biological timing,” he announced cheerfully as their hands met, though she could hear a note of anticipation in his voice. “If I’d known you were this keen, I would have mentioned being a dad sooner.” His grin grew bigger, “No time like the present.”

No sooner had they touched, Rose departed as she backed off from his words and into the railings, putting the seats between them. The Doctor stood there, plainly confused. Her hands grabbed onto the metal poles behind her for grounding, while his slid quietly into his trouser pockets for protection. They both swallowed.

Rose had trouble grasping what the Doctor had just implied. Knowing things about her fertility was one thing, but trying to understand children was very different to creating some to understand. Was sex for him just for producing offspring?

“Is that the reason we’ve not...?” Rose conjectured.

“Procreation, not recreation,” he said with a resigned sigh, scratching the back of his neck and returning his attention to the console. 

Rose’s libido wilted seeing the Doctor hide his disappointment behind a neutral expression, disappointed probably as much in his own beliefs as her reaction. She’d certainly had reason to dampen her desires, but she’d been premeditating this question. The Doctor had been surprised, yet unfurled with optimism only to be crushed moments later.

Rose came away from the railings and chewed on her thumbnail. She wasn’t sure if she should go to the Doctor and hug him. Maybe a hug would reassure both of them that they weren’t foolish in their beliefs. But then again, a hug might give the impression that she wanted to talk more about children and his feelings, when he’d made it clear twice today that he’d rather go looking for something else on the monitor.

But something still didn’t make sense. If he didn’t think she wanted children until a few minutes ago, albeit a mistaken belief, why had he had been coming on to her?

“But what about all that flirting?” she asked, absently fiddling with a rip in the seat fabric.

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow at her, which didn’t help her confidence on the subject.

“You know,” she continued, though she was going to have to explain in part, “The shoulder bumps and nudges to the chest and stuff.”

Rose wasn’t sure if she liked the quirked smile the Doctor had. “Not every touch has to be sexual, Rose,” he admonished slightly. “I’m sure you originated in the 20th century, not the nineteenth,” he added in a humoured tone.

After a few moments of tending the console, a sudden thought struck the Doctor that warranted him to look at her. Nervously he quickly asked, “Do you want me to stop touching you?”

“No!” Rose replied just as fast. Judging by his relieved look, it was something they agreed on. Seemingly he was satisfied with that answer, and returned his interest to the readouts, while Rose continued to pick at the tears. “It’s just frustrating, sometimes. I get all excited by your touch, and then you stop.”

“You are perfectly capable of satisfying your urges on your own,” he breezed without looking up. The tone suggested she should take matters into her own hands.

Rose had come this far and she was determined to lay responsibility where it belonged. “You start all these feelings in me...” she started confidently, but the Doctor stepped around the rotor away from her. “And I want you to finish what you’ve started,” she raised her voice to finish.

The Doctor stopped what he was doing and met her gaze. After a beat he carefully enquired, “You want me to please you sexually?”

Rose wasn’t sure if she liked the almost clinical detachment he’d asked in, along with his guarded expression. The men in her life usually jumped at the chance for sex. Rose wondered if she should feel guilty – she was asking the Doctor to use his body just to please her, like the men in her past, behaviour she despised. _If you love me, you’ll have sex with me._ A phrase she’d heard too often, and succumbed to just once. She recognised it now as emotional blackmail. But the Doctor’s detachment said he wasn’t controlled by baser urges. It sounded like a level decision.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

The warm smile and glint in his eye that followed her affirmation made Rose’s skin tingle. He made no rush to tidy up at the console, prolonging her anticipation. He took a piece of chocolate on the short walk to her, like he was going to be up for a while.

He stood directly in front of her. “Okay,” he said plainly. “Teach me to please you.”

“What, you’ve never...?” Rose stayed put but panicked at the prospect of the Doctor being a virgin, despite how silly that thought was given his age and being a dad once. The insecurities about emotional blackmail filtered forward.

“Not with you,” he stated. It reassured her somewhat. This wasn’t a generic thing for him, doing what worked for most. He wanted to know what worked for _her._ This was very different to just lying there and being used. It was different to just doing enough to close the subject and be done with it.

Willing... and yet not doing anything, Rose noted. His hands were outside his pockets, so she started on familiar territory and laced their fingers together. There was an awkward silence, like he expected her to run off though she had initiated the physical this time. Yet, the more she looked at him, the more it seemed like she’d mentioned putting up net curtains in the TARDIS. It reminded her of that conversation beneath a black hole, about starting up an unfamiliar life with fixed walls and a mortgage, so alien to the Doctor. She had reduced the Oncoming Storm, the man who faced down armies and organisations with gusto, to a state of worry and embarrassment. It mattered to him, what he did with her. Rose took comfort that as long as they faced it together, it didn’t matter how unfamiliar things got.

As nice as it was standing there and holding hands, Rose doubted the grated floor, nodular console and battered seating would prove comfortable for what she’d planned. Not that she had thought any great detail, but her double bed would make things smoother. She turned around and led the Doctor to where her thoughts had started.

***

This was it. Her bedroom. The Doctor. Here with sexual intent. No nightmares to face. A dream come true. Only in Rose’s dreams, it was the Doctor that took the lead in their horizontal dancing.

Rose kicked off her slippers and sat down on the edge of her bed, while he continued to stand in front of her. The orientation belied who was pleasing who, so she pulled on their joined hands. He landed gracefully on his knees, revealing the extended length of his torso as his eye line was only slightly below hers. She took advantage of the height and kissed him on the lips.

He didn’t respond at first to her light pressing, so she pressed a little harder, leaving a slight moisture residue on his surface. When he puckered his lips in return, Rose felt a tingling line descend to her sex while butterflies fluttered up to her stomach. It was embarrassing, kissing the Doctor; an awkwardness, as though she was kissing her best friend. Which, Rose reflected, was the situation. She’d thought of the Doctor as her best friend for so long that thinking of having sex with him was weird. Dreams were one thing, but the real and present tense was having unforeseen effects.

As the kiss deepened to include tongues on both sides, all the feelings amplified. Rose found herself lifting up in an attempt to shift the butterflies. Instead, they formed a denser pocket in her diaphragm, causing a gasping laugh and Rose coming up for air.

“Too fast? Too soon?” the Doctor enquired, trying to catch her haphazard gaze.

Rose calmed her breathing and focused on looking at him. He was a picture of composure, while she was thrown just by one kiss, one stroke of his tongue. No-one had ever inspired such depth and wealth of emotions as the Doctor, and she wasn’t sure if she could do this. She wanted to, to give in to the feelings he invoked in her, but whether she could keep coherent enough to tell him what to do… Did he need verbal instruction? Did she have to lead and he would follow? He’d stopped kissing her when she pulled back, so did he need constant guidance or could he take the hint? What cue was he looking for?

She was pulled from her reverie by the Doctor squeezing her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Before he could interject, she added, “I’m not used to… talking about sex.”

The Doctor gave her a sympathetic, lopsided smile. “It hadn’t escaped my attention.”

“If that kiss is any indication, what I say will be unintelligible after the first five minutes,” she admitted breathlessly.

The Doctor didn’t say anything, a far cry from his usual babbling when distracting people, either from their plans or figuring his thoughts. He was being careful not to influence her, she realised. To her mind, her body screamed shag me, but he hadn’t taken the hint. She wondered how specific she’d have to be in her guidance.

“Do I,” she started, before absently picking at bits of fluff on the purple duvet cover and nervously bouncing her leg. “Do I have to show you what to do and you carry on, position you in the right places and hold you there, or tell you I like it, or – “

The Doctor cleared his throat. Rose quelled her exterior, relieved at the interruption.

“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you started before you’d even touched me,” he softly stated.

The look he gave her melted her insides with heat. She tried to speak but her throat only managed a squeak. Maybe words were unnecessary, if he could tell just by holding hands. Rose wondered what he could tell with his tongue, a thought that caused a shiver of delight.

The movement caught the Doctor’s attention and he seemed to consider it, learning what it meant. Rose had her own thought. Would things go smoother if he could read her mind as well as her body? If he could see images in her mind showing him what to do? But Rose cooled slightly with the idea. The Doctor could read her mind with ease ,see things she wasn’t ready for him to see, especially when she couldn’t form coherent barriers. He might take the invitation as something long standing, beyond the sex, and she didn’t want to get his hopes up about sustaining a mental union, given his earlier disappointment.

Tenderly, Rose cupped his face, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin. Realising it wasn’t an instruction, he closed his eyes and inclined to her touch. It was a rare moment of calm, acceptance, _happiness._ Her heart swelled with the thought she’d done that, just with her fingertips.

“I want you to read my mind, tonight,” she whispered.

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, though he stayed cradled in her palm. He favoured her with an unreadable expression, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Just tonight. Just for the sex,” she explained, while her palm started to clam against his cool skin. This sounded so selfish. The last thing she wanted was to push the Doctor away by asking such intimate things of him: her own start-stop behaviour. Her hand fell away and into her lap, and her head dropped to rest her chin on her chest.

“Or we could just tickle fight,” she submitted, squeezing her thighs together to subdue her arousal.

“Wouldn’t you rather I tickled your fancy?” the Doctor purred.

It was Rose’s turn to open her eyes widely and look at him, though her expression was easily read as surprise. It turned to one of desire, as the Doctor ran his tongue across his teeth, mimicking her mannerism, and waggled his eyebrows.

“Or maybe my tonsils,” she purred back, to which he needed no more encouragement.

He slid his hands under her arms and across her back in a slightly ticklish way, but mostly as a familiar hug. Rose instinctively wrapped around the Doctor’s thin frame, aiming to rest her chin on his shoulder to complete the gesture, only he kept his face aligned with hers. He kissed her, gently at first, then pressed more firmly with his lips before tracing the tip of his tongue across her lips. She opened willingly and his tongue made careful ministrations in her mouth, eliciting mews from her throat and resonated deeper inside.

Rose shifted a little, and the Doctor smoothed one hand up to cradle her head while the other traced down to her thigh. In a controlled movement he lifted off his knees and leaned her onto her bed, the buttons on his jacket and her pyjama top clinking together as he lowered his torso over hers. Rose’s shoulder blades parted over the Doctor’s arm as they settled into languid kisses. The prone orientation wasn’t uncomfortable, and Rose was content until his free hand left her leg, snaked within her arm and brushed her temple reverently. She pulled back to look at him.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Rose whispered with their close proximity, through she grimaced slightly at the unfortunate phrasing.

“A little goes a long way,” he replied tenderly. Cryptic as the answer was, it was an affirmation.

“Just the surface,” she maintained, squeezing his upper arms for reassurance.

“Just the surface,” he confirmed, and as her smile spread he splayed his fingers on one side of her head.

He closed his eyes and angled his head as though he were seeing something. Rose only saw the Doctor above her. She couldn’t feel him in her mind, and she wondered if using one hand meant only he could read her mind, or maybe signalled a shallow mental union. Either way, it didn’t distract her from the full body sensations of their current positions, even though he wasn’t bearing his weight on her. She kissed him and closed her eyes, hoping her insight would rouse him.

Pure thoughts weren’t an issue – both content and clarity – as the Doctor clearly got the message. He kissed her mouth, throat and collarbone with delicate but deliberate touch, slightly more pressure than her unconscious had offered. But this was so much better. Rose became proactive and grasped his nape, to ensure this was real. Her fingers threading through his thick hair made his kisses firmer. He pressed down with his tongue, marking the dips between her ribs and the rising of her chest with excited breaths.

He lifted his torso from her to gain access to the buttons on her pyjama top and single-handedly undid them, clearing the way for his fingers and mouth. His smooth pads stroked one areola, causing it to pucker and sensitise. When he sucked her other nipple, Rose yelped at the roughness of his tongue. He paused his movements at her sudden jolt and tight grip in his hair. He waited until she’d calmed from the over-stimulation before shifting down and settling on her. Rose welcomed the grounding, the blanketing effect of his body and distraction caused by his jacket buttons, and instinctively wrapped her thighs around his waist. His elbow dipped the mattress to her side as he shifted his focus to the curve of her breast, caressing the yielding flesh with his long fingers. He delicately kissed her other breast, causing her to nudge her hips against his hard frame.

Through the many layers of fabric, Rose rocked to get more friction. The Doctor manoeuvred his arm from under her and smoothed both of his hands over her sides. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her trousers and took them with him as he slid onto the floor. The movement carried Rose forward, so she scooted back to compose herself. He came forward, slipping both arms over her feet, under her thighs and onto her abdomen; one rested over her heart while the other lay in the cradle of her hips.

Rose hadn’t dreamed that, so she opened her eyes see what he was doing. No sooner had she done so, her eyelids reflexively shut and she jumped off the bed with the deft touch of his lips on her labia. After failing to gain purchase on her duvet cover, she grabbed onto his hands. He splayed his fingers and she interlocked her own between them. She held onto the familiar while a throaty laugh escaped her before letting out a long breath, clearing hair from her face. 

This was slightly ridiculous. Rose had never been this excitable, and the Doctor’s cooler temperature seemed to amplify her desire. She settled her knees on his shoulders and locked her ankles together, hoping her closed position would dampen the sensations a little. He brushed their lips again and she unfurled readily with her lubrication, which he spread out with his tongue to cover the area within her curls.

The Doctor returned his focus to her clitoris. Rose didn’t jump; instead, she relaxed and centred her attention on where he was touching her. She soon forgot his resting hands, as pressure built under his lips and tongue with his gentle licks and kisses. It was an acute area of contact that Rose tried to enlarge by shifting her hips, only to realise how captured she was in his embrace. The little movement she managed made no difference as he moved with her, keeping their contact matched. Rose started panting, trying to take deeper breaths, desperate to prolong the incessant contact, but it proved too much. She climaxed, pushing her elbows into the bed in an attempt to move as her clitoris contracted with slow pulses. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, disappointed in her body’s premature peak. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” the Doctor gently asked.

“Not that quickly,” she admitted, flexing her toes and stretching her calves against his back.

“Who said it was over?” he queried playfully.

Rose lifted her head up to look at him. He grinned widely, the moisture on his lips and cheeks glinting as much as his eyes. Evidently he was enjoying this, if not in all the ways she was. Well, not that she could tell from this angle. Even the ruffled hair above his nape was out of view.

Then his face became serious. The Doctor flicked his gaze to what was directly in front of him and swallowed before returning his eyes to hers. The act stirred the dying embers of her arousal, and his look asking for permission ignited her heart. Rose let her head fall back and she settled into the warmth of sensations.

The Doctor gently drew the bridge of his nose over her clitoris, lifting away at reaching the tip and starting again from the base. His fringe tickled her skin and hair in the gentle movement. To her pleasant surprise, her arousal began to rise again, with a heavy pressure building inside her. She shifted her hips to balance the weight. He responded by delving his tongue inside and pushing to counterpoise the tension. Rose gasped, disbelieving as to the physical swelling. It wasn’t fair, and she pulled on his hands to drag him up her body.

He made his own path of kisses up her torso until he reached the height she could engage his mouth. Ever the gentleman, he hovered above her, allowing her access to unbutton his jacket and ride up his polo shirt to expose his lithe frame. When she felt the front of his trousers, he lifted away to look at her.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a condom in these deep pockets of yours?” Rose remained fixated. She fumbled to get access at the sides of his trousers.

“I’m not human, Rose.” 

Rose stilled her hands and looked at him, unsure as to the meaning of his words. “Aren’t we… compatible?” she conjectured, hoping at what she’d just brushed across. 

“Yes, we are,” he answered with a slight smile, before returning to a neutral expression. “But that’s the issue.”

“Well, couldn’t you withdraw before... you know?” she suggested, hoping their mental union would negate the need to elaborate.

“I’m not human,” he repeated softly, brushing an errant strand of hair from her temple. “Once I start, and we’re joined, I can’t stop and leave.” 

“Procreation, not recreation,” she echoed his earlier words. She tried to hide her disappointment, though with his sense of her fading arousal it was a fruitless attempt.

“Why are you after these things?” he said in a bemused tone, trying to cheer her up. “Isn’t the rest of me satisfying you?” he queried playfully.

Rose smiled despite herself, being infected by his oversized grin. She loved his enthusiasm, and found her view of the Doctor’s skin helpful in staying in the mood. She just wished he could share in what she was experiencing because of him.

“I want you to feel the same way,” she admitted, slightly choked on the sincerity of the sentiment.

The Doctor stopped smiling. Before Rose had a chance to read his expression, he kissed her fully. She didn’t imagine anything. She was overcome by the Doctor pushing into her mouth and her mind such intensity of feeling. Her senses extended and he saturated them. He covered her burning torso with his own, his jacket sheathing her sides from the elements. He ground his hips against hers and she instinctively rocked up to meet him, cradling him in her legs and arms. He moulded one hand between her shoulder blades and the other inside her, lifting her. She gasped, and he panted into her ear.

Still her mind fought for control, teetering on the edge of consciousness. The Doctor felt her resistance.

“Let go, fall for me. Come for me,” he called to her in short breaths, urging her over. She needed no more pushing, and she jumped and spasmed in her release.

***

When Rose’s mind came back, the Doctor was looking at her with a satisfied and considerate smile. His breathing had normalised instantly, while she was still recovering. All the moisture on his skin appeared to be from her rather than him sweating. He carefully eased his fingers from inside her. She was spent, and fortunately he didn’t seem intent on keeping her aroused.

“Cup of tea?” he suggested, putting his fingers inside his mouth. All she could think about was jam, but upon swallowing she realised how much shouting she had done.

“Any chance of a bedroom tea making facility?” she semi-suggested, in no rush to get up.

“But then we’d never leave the bedroom,” he mock protested, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she teased, knowing most of the insinuation would go unnoticed.

“There’s the whole universe outside these walls waiting to be explored!” he enthused, pushing himself off the mattress and leaving her exposed. She made a lazy attempt at pulling her top on before realising the material was saturated with sweat.

“Even if it’s shopping?” she suggested, gauging his reaction from her lying down vantage point.

“Yes,” he agreed nonchalantly, nodding and reasoning. “There are some parts of the console interfacing that could do with changing now.”

Rose rolled her eyes and reached down for her pyjama bottoms, though she soon regretted the speed of her actions with her light headedness. The Doctor was instantly crouching beside her, looking concerned.

“I’m alright,” she said honestly, blinking away her temporary dizziness. After a beat he eased into standing, affording her full view of the wet stain on the outside of his trousers. Sheepishly she pointed at the area, but he took it in his stride.

“Next stop, wardrobe,” he said, buttoning up his jacket single-handedly whilst smoothing the hair on his nape.

“Then the kettle,” she added with a yawn.

“Then the kettle,” he agreed. “The universe will still be there in the morning,” he affirmed, and departed on his errands.

Rose slowly stood up and stretched. She padded over to the sizeable dirty laundry pile and added her pyjamas, before putting clean ones on and shuffling back onto the bed. She was quietly dozing when she heard soft footsteps and the distant scrape of ceramic on wood. Then she felt a warm weight blanket her.

“Be at peace, Rose Tyler,” she heard.

Contented, Rose drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~


End file.
